Return To Me My Things
by Tempermental18
Summary: After being a demon for quite a few days, Dean has been purified, and is back to being human, burying his demon-days in a deep, dark corner of his heart. However, seems like a certain King of Hell hasn't been able do the same, and is now leaving messages for the green-eyed hunter . Will Dean finally accept just what those demon-days meant to both men ?
1. Some of My Things

**Hi all, this is my first Drowley fan-fiction, I hope that I haven't made a fool out of myself by publishing this ! This has been inspired by a lovely Indian song, 'Mera Kuch Saman' .((Worry not, you don't need to know the song to get the fic))**

 **The show, characters and song (both the original version and the translation) aren't mine, I am just taking my creative freedom and using it.**

 **Cross-posted on Ao3**

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The moment Dean had seen who the voice mail was from, Dean had known that nothing good will come out of listening to it, and that he should, by all means, delete the voice mail. And he had done that, nearly. Something had stopped him at the very last moment. Something had frozen his finger in mid-air, looming over the delete button, and had prompted him to listen to the message instead . Dean hadn't yet realized just what that particular thing was, the one that had changed his decision. He was yet to realize which specific emotion or memory had all but forced him into this situation, but rest assured, when he successfully identifies the culprit, he will find a way to fight off that something, for he will not, _can_ not, be in this kind of a situation again . Not when he had finally gotten himself back, not when he has buried those memories, those feelings...everything associated with those days when he had been a demon !

He won't let himself relive those days and nights spent in the company of a certain red-eyed demon, no matter how many voice mails said demon leaves him, he just won't. Dean won't let himself get lost in memories of the time he had spent with black eyes, he won't wish, he won't _crave_ for those carefree...

" No, no Dean, get a grip on yourself " he chastised, reminding himself that those were _not_ carefree days, those were selfish days, they weren't good, they aren't to be missed . If only that had been easy ! Try as he might, he just can't get that time out of his mind, he can't stop missing that time, when he had been...not happy, per se, but...free ! No matter how disgusted Dean felt to think of his demon-days as a time when he had been free, he just can't stop thinking like that . From the moment he had lost his Mom, and his Dad had buried himself in alcohol and hunting, Dean had been forced to carry the burden of being there for not only his little brother, but also for his grieving father. And between caring for his baby brother and father, caring for himself, doing something for his own happiness had become a surreal thought. Nothing had changed with time, Dean had remained the same, even if it seemed that he found his pleasure in greasy food, random women or killing the monster of the week .

So, it came as no real surprise to him that he had _enjoyed_ his demon-days, when he had only himself to think about, and that he missed that feeling, that, that...liberty . Now, he knew full well that he wouldn't be able to get that anymore, and it will be best to forget those days, he hadn't been able to do that . That's why, when his phone pinged with a voice mail from Crowley, something inside him made him listen to it, and here he was, standing in the middle of his room, phone pressed to his ear, completely baffled by what he had heard.

Shaking his head to clear it off of the pitiful whining of his mind that it still missed the time spent in the company of Crowley, Dean pressed the button to replay the message, thinking that once his head was free of stupid thoughts, he will be able to grasp the meaning of Crowley's voice mail.

 _ **Some of my things are with you...**_

The words were uttered in Crowley's usual, gruff voice, but something about the voice didn't add up. Gone was the ever-present smoothness of Crowley's tone, and now that Dean's head was a bit clearer, it became apparent that the words were slightly slurred. Seemed like Crowley had left him a drunk voice mail . As if Dean didn't have enough on his plate, but now he had to deal with the demon's drunk messages . And that too, when Dean was busy trying to forget about his demonic escapades with said demon .

Winchester luck !

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 **There it is ! Please review ? *makes puppy eyes***


	2. Extinguish That Night

**Hi, hi ! No, I haven't gotten abducted by aliens or something, just had a rough time getting my creativity to show its pretty face. However, I was just hit with inspiration, so you get another chapter .**

 **The show, characters and song (both the original version and the translation) aren't mine, I am just taking my creative freedom and using it.**

 **Also, un-betaed, all faults are mine and mine only !**

 **Another thing, I have taken quite a few creative liberties regarding Dean's demon-days. Hope none of you mind.**

 **Cross-posted on AO3**

 **Thanks to SB- Potterhead Budgie Lover,  suicidalunicorn97 for reviewing and all 5 of you who have followed/favorited this fic. Huge thanks to all those who have read the previous chapter, hopefully you will like this one too.**

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 **Ping !**

If phones hadn't been as costly as they were, then Dean would have surely thrown his phone across the room and into the opposite wall the moment his phone had pinged with the arrival of another message from Crowley. However, phones _were_ costly, so Dean settled for throwing it onto the bed. The first time he had received a message from Crowley, Dean had been surprised, but he hadn't paid it much thought . The second time he had gotten a message, two nights previous to this one, he had listened to the message, and the next day, had forgotten about it. Tonight, the third message had come, and Dean was _not_ in the mood to deal with Crowley . Besides, even if Dean were interested in these messages, which he wasn't, he wouldn't be able to make head or tail of them, seeing that the words made no sense . Of course, Crowley seemed to be quite inebriated, so Dean assumed that the words weren't supposed to have a meaning . Still, try how he might Dean could not ignore them .

Even tonight, when Dean was in this much of a bad mood, even when his mind was such a mixture of hurt, and anger, even when he felt as if he wanted to wrench his own heart out and die, he still felt like listening to the message. Sure, he was irritated because of it, and why wouldn't he be, but he did want to listen to it, rather than deleting the message. Or was he feeling like this _because_ of his current state. Was his mind trying to escape from its current predicament by plunging into memories that were still too fresh ? Was he seeking refuge in that particular place ? If that were the case, then he wouldn't be surprised, he had already come to realize that he had felt _good_ and...and alive...during those days. No, it wasn't as much of a realization as it was acceptance. He had known that those days had felt good, he had only been too ashamed to accept that at first . However, as days went by, and the atmosphere inside the bunker grew tenser with every passing second, Dean had finally admitted to himself that yes, he had felt good during his demon-phase, and no, he won't deny that.

And why will he deny having enjoyed those days ? At least then, there hadn't been any emotion in him during those days ! He hadn't felt any guilt for his ways, he hadn't been hurt by arguments with his baby brother, he hadn't been angry...Okay, so he had been angry, but that anger wasn't _this!_ That anger was ever-present within him, always burning like a flame inside of him, always ready to bubble out and escape the confines of his body and cool down after bathing in blood, either someone else's, or his own...That anger had been fueled by outside interference, be it a handful of words or a menacing look, or any other thing, but it had always been there, and that anger didn't mean anything! That anger had been a part of him, and therefore, he had become habituated with it, he hadn't felt that anger like this...But most of all, that anger was easy to dissipate, regardless of whether the cause of the sudden out pour had been dealt with or not. This anger, that he now felt, this anger was ignited inside of him like a spark, and then burned its way through his insides, absolutely refusing to go away until something had been done about the thing that had angered him. More of all, he had to deal with things, and not quell his anger by taking it out on any living being surrounding him . So yes, the anger from those days and the anger from these days are way different, no doubts there.

Another thing that makes him almost wish for his black-eyed days is guilt . Guilt, which has been eating at him for the past few days,guilt over his actions as a demon. Be it a nightmare depicting his time as a demon or the glint of a kitchen knife that make various scenes flash before his eyes, the guilt always comes after . The guilt follows him, extending its hands and sinks its claws into his heart, twisting and turning his insides with its cold hands...It isn't just the brutal fights that bring out the guilt, no. He also feels guilty for how he had behaved during that phase. The numerous persons he had interacted with during that time, and the way he had treated them makes him feel enough guilty to go and drown himself in alcohol, which he does. Still, even as the alcohol numbs the burning heat of shame and chillness of the guilt, the memories remain . Memories such as the ones of him and Anne Marie and the look in those blue eyes, when he had thrown those cruel and insulting words at her...memories of the time when he had shrugged off Cole's threat of hurting Sam...the time he, Dean, himself had engaged in a cat-and-mouse game with Sam, hammer in hand...the time when Dean had sprouted out venomous words in an attempt to sabotage Sam's plan of curing Dean of his demon-stage...Yes, even if he does his best, the memories remain intact, only to crop up from time to time and douse him in shame and guilt.

As for the hurt that hits him like a wave every time he has an argument with Sam, well that had always been one thing he could have done well without. Especially now, after coming back to being human. Ironically, or maybe it was because of the famous 'Winchester Luck', recently, the brothers have been getting into more fights than usual. The bunker wasn't doing their situation any good either. Filled with tension thick enough to be cut through with saw-blade, the atmosphere only helped to increase the frequency of the arguments. Even the smallest of issues was blown out of proportion, and in most cases, both of the brother had stormed off in different directions, Sam towards the library, and Dean towards his room .

So yes, all of these were things that Dean hadn't missed during those demon-days, and yes, he did wish to lose the ability to _feel_ from time to time, and yes, he knew full well that he couldn't, should not, get back to that stage. And that is why, Dean still hadn't been able to ignore Crowley's messages, for the red-eyed demon is Dean's only connection to the days in which he seeks refuge from his current predicaments, without the constant reminder of his bloody, cruel acts . In fact, in a strange, twisted way, Crowley is the person in whom Dean seeks refuge from his troubles. And that is why, after the initial moments of irritation had passed, Dean picked up his phone, and pressed the button to listen to Crowley's message.

 **...extinguish that night...**

Like the previous ones, this too was said in a slurred manner, and most of the words were uttered in such a low volume that Dean couldn't make them out. Not that it mattered, for even if he had caught all the words, Dean was pretty sure that he wouldn't have been able to get their meaning. Still, the words had served their purpose, at least for Dean, pulling him into the memories of his past that he just can't leave behind.

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 **Done. The next one will come shortly, I have a brief outline made in my mind, just have to write it down.**  
 **Until the next one, then. Do leave a comment if you have the time, will make my day.**


	3. That Night

**Hey, I am still around ! Just had to go over the draft like...Oh, I don't know, a thousand times ? Anyway, I am back, with the chapter and all.**

 **The show, characters and song (both the original version and the translation) aren't mine, I am just taking my creative freedom and using it.**

 **Also, un-betaed, all faults are mine and mine only !**

 **Another thing, I have taken quite a few creative liberties regarding Dean's demon-days, as well as Demons in general. Hope none of you mind.**

 **Also, my first time writing Crowley ! Yep, the stakes are high! Do leave a feedback !**

 **Cross-posted on Ao3**

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 **...Extinguish that night...**

The words didn't make any more sense the second time Dean heard them than on the first try. They were still a string of slurred words, nothing else. Frustrated, Dean was about to give up, when he remembered that Crowley had sent another message, one Dean hadn't heard yet. In hopes that the unopened message will help him decode this one, Dean began to thumb through his phone. Upon finding what he had been searching for, he pressed the device to his ear, before pushing the button to play the message.

This one too, although longer, was spoken in the same slightly slurred and hard to distinguish manner.

 **...Remember that Saturday night ?...**

Dean did . He did remember that night, like all the other ones he had spent as a Demon. Those were good days, how could he have forgotten those ? That night _had_ its in his memories. Even today, after such a long gap in between then and now, with numerous tries on Dean's part to put that time behind him, Dean could still recall the events of that night, clear as day.

 _"Does this really sate the Mark, Dean ? Can this low-quality Alcohol truly compensate for the blood and gore ?"_

 _Even if Dean's eyes were nowhere near Crowley's face, the ex-hunter, or shall we say, ex-human, could feel the smirk dangling from the Demon King's lips . Result of either Dean's own heightened senses or spending too much time in the company of the other man, Dean didn't know . Nor was he particularly interested in knowing._

 _Swallowing his drink in one go, Dean spent a few short seconds waiting for the slight burn of alcohol, before remembering that no such feeling will come . Perks of being a Demon ._

 _Tapping his finger atop the counter to signal for another drink, Dean turned his head to the side, eyes flashing black before resuming their usual green shade ._

 _"One" he said, lips curling into a twisted, menacing smile that will have seen any of the so called 'normal people' shudder in both fear and contempt. "That is none of your business. And two," Here he paused before tossing back the newly filled glass of whiskey, before continuing in that honey-over-asphalt voice of his. "I don't cringe at the sight of anything less than that fancy Craig of yours."_

 _"Well, seeing that you ido/i posses an extremely powerful weapon and that I am the one to provide you company most of the time, it i is/i my business. It. Although I very much doubt, that you, with your self-sacrificing past, understand that " Crowley replied, before signalling the bartender for a drink. Taking a small sip out of the glass that now sat in front of him, he added " And as for me not thinking highly of this..." He gestured at Dean's glass "...whatever it is that you are having, pardon me if I prefer stuff of the highest quality "_

 _"Self-sacrificing, huh ? Good one. Can't really deny it now, can I ?" Dean replied, tone light and face losing some of the previously present hardness ._

 _Crowley snorted, before taking another sip . " No, don't think you can . Pretty sure that you have burnt i that /i bridge long ago" he said, going with the light mood of the conversation. No need to argue if not necessary._

 _"I did, didn't I ?" Dean replied, voice getting softer. He began to twirl the empty glass in his hand, before looking up from his hands . "So, why is it that you only like the highest quality stuff ? You know, the fancier the better ?"_

 _It was Crowley's turn to get serious. He didn't shoot back with his usual snark, opting to brush his thumb along the outside of his glass. "It's kind of a...ingrown thing, I guess" he said, eyes fixed on the dark liquid and voice barely above a whisper._

 _Dean kept his silence, some old feeling, something from his human days telling him that he shouldn't push the other ._

 _Sure enough, Crowley took up from where he had left off . "These things happen, when you haven't had the bare minimum, you opt for the very best"_

 _Dean nodded. "You have had your share of problems too, huh ?" He asked, something akin to sympathy, (or empathy perhaps, he neither knew nor cared) present in his tone ._

 _"I did. That made me what I am today"_

 _"Yeah ?"_

 _Crowley looked up from his glass, brown eyes searching Dean's face for a single hint of mockery . When he didn't find any, he returned his gaze to his drink, resuming the conversation in the same low, soft tone. "I hadn't been able to have a...good life. My life had been spent in misery, knee-deep in poverty and submerged in cheap alcoh-"_

 _"Woah, woah ! Hold on!" Dean cut in before Crowley could finish speaking. "You had a life like that and you still asked for..."_

 _This time it was Crowley who did the interrupting. "Yes, I did. I had been drunk, I had been stupid. I had thought that it would've solved my problems" he snapped._

 _"Dude, calm down !" Dean placated, raising his hands in air. "Learn to take a joke !"_

 _Crowley shrugged off Dean's apology, eyes saddening as he went on about his human life. "Did you know that my Mother had left me ? Just gone - without a word . I woke up, and she was gone. I had been a child, had been naive..." his tone became bitter at the end, before he broke off._

 _Dean has had his own share of these kind of things . He has had enough experience with his own father to know how much it hurts. Has felt the same pain with every movement of John's that could have become a pat on the back but never did. Had felt the same bitterness with every birthday that had been forgotten by John . Had felt anger and disappointment pool in his stomach every time his father had come home drunk...So yeah. Long story short, he knew how Crowley could have felt, and he also knew how Crowley was feeling now._

 _"Parents' have a habit of disappointing their kids, it seems" he said, more to himself than to Crowley, before finishing off the rest of his drink and ordering another one._

 _"Have something in common, don't we ?" Crowley asked, lips twisting up into a wry grin. "Knew you were made to be a Demon"_

 _Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Not that he had to. Both him and Crowley had gotten the hang of each other, had learned to correctly guess the other's reaction. Being in close quarters does that, and they had been together for quite some while . Demons don't sleep, so almost every hour of every day had been spent in each other's company._

 _Sure enough, Crowley continued speaking without further prompting. "You see, Dean, not every soul that goes to Hell comes out as a Demon. Most souls don't even survive the rack. But people like you and me, we do. We fight tooth and nail with what would become our fate, and we win . Because we can survive the torture. We can go through the physical pain, our lives not being filled with roses and candies. But do you know what does it ? What makes us come out victorious ? The fact that apart from the pain the rack inflicts, nothing hurts us . Our torturers can't break us with their twisted words, because we have done that to ourselves for our whole life. And if they do, then it is our own self-inflicted scars that break us, they just rip apart the makeshift bandage. All of our lifetime has been telling us just how useless we are, how pathetic we are. This is what makes us vicious too. We have tried to possess some control over our own lives, and have met with failure, every time . So when we do get the control, when we lose the ties that keep us bound to humanity, we become uncontrollable. We become monsters . To tell you the truth, becoming a Demon is like pulling off the mask. We don't become anything, except free to be us. Deep down, we have always been this, a Demon."_

 _"So you are saying that you have always been a demon, and so have I ?"_

 _"I have been a pathetic loser, lost in a drunk haze and beating my only son black and blue. You have always been bitter over your life. First for not being able to have a proper one, and later, for being invisible. We have been walking-talking bags of issues . Both of us. We still are." Crowley replied, shrugging nonchalantly and taking a sip of his drink._

 _"Look at you, opening your heart to me. And look at me, listening to that without a smart comeback"_

 _"Kind of ruined the streak there Darling" Crowley shot back, giving Dean one of his usual, smart, cocky grins. He finished off the rest of his drink, before standing up. "How about you humor us all with your delightful singing ?"_

 _Dean noticed that Crowley didn't deny having spoken his heart out to the ex-hunter, but he didn't push it. Slamming the empty glass atop of the counter, Dean stood up and flashed a brilliant smile. "Let's go"_ ~~

Dean's memory didn't end there, he remembered the things that had taken place after that too . He had taken possession of the karaoke machine, had belted out songs in a terribly off-key manner, had refused to leave the stage, had fought with the bouncer and a few other people who had tried to drag him away from the microphone, that fight had sated the thirst of the pulsing Mark, and later on, Dean and Crowley had laughed their heads off . Or at least Dean had. Crowley had settled for an amused quirk of his lips .

Can't let the others see the King laugh, Dean . The Demon had said in reply to Dean's protest.

So yes, Dean did remember that night's other events . But he could also feel that those details weren't important. The memory made him see sense in Crowley's messages. Somewhat.

That night, Crowley had opened up to Dean. He had shared his secrets with him. Not only that. The night hadn't really ended that Saturday. Not the night Crowley had written about. That Saturday night had been the beginning of the longer night, the night that had them both sharing their hidden dreams and wishes .They had shared their regrets, their pain, their bitterness...And that hadn't stopped. That was what Crowley meant by 'extinguishing that night' . He meant putting an end to the bond that had been forged, end of the familiarity between them.

Crowley had asked Dean to put a stop to that part, and for Dean to return what Crowley had left with the green-eyed hunter. A piece of his heart.

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 **Until the next one, then. Do leave a comment if you have the time, will make my day. Also, thank you all who have read/commented. Mean a lot.**


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